


The Gang Gets Detention

by bloodpopsicles



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst and Violence, Breakfast Club AU, Canon-Typical Slurs, F/M, M/M, Poisoning, creepy teacher, gay teenage sadness, high school gang, implied underage non-con, marijuana cigarettes, masturbation in the library bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodpopsicles/pseuds/bloodpopsicles
Summary: Dee and Dennis show up to detention one Saturday, and run into Ronnie the Rat and Dirt Grub. Being locked in a library for eight hours can make a gang out of any motley crew. The Breakfast Club AU I couldn't believe didn't already exist.





	

Dennis pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching suburban Philly pass by in a grey blur outside. The sky was an overcast shade of gunmetal, dull and threatening showers. It made him look paler than usual. He hated that. 

He glanced over to Dee in the backseat next to him, her seatbelt wrapped convolutedly around her bulky backbrace. He snorted at how ridiculous she looked, and she flipped him off in response. 

Their mother was in the driver’s seat, yammering on about some bitch at the club who stole her idea for a fundraiser dinner, and blah blah blah that cunt Helen is really asking for it, and Barbara knew for a fact she was fucking the poolboy… Droning on and on while the Virginia Slim held precariously between two of her ring-encrusted fingers dwindled down to ash. 

Dennis bit his lip as the smoke wafted toward the backseat. He needed a cigarette. He had started last year, when he was a sophomore, because it looked cool. He needed to be cool. Or rather, he needed people to think he was cool. But now he liked the way it made his head stop spinning, how for the length of a smoke it was a little less loud in his brain. Plus, it got him away from his stupid family--his bitch mom, Frank who couldn’t pretend to give a shit when he wasn't off overseas doing business, and Dee, poor little Sweet Deandra, who was constantly on his case about something or another. It was exhausting. The only times Dennis really got to be alone with the quiet was when he snuck out his second floor bedroom window, sat on the roof, and spit smoke up at the stars. 

“We’re here, you degenerate children,” Barbara said as she pulled up to the curb outside the deserted high school. “Now Dennis, do your time and get this nonsense over with, sweetheart. And next time don’t get caught.” She winked and smiled at her son, but when Dee came into her line of sight Barbara’s face deflated and she rolled her eyes, peeling away before Dee even had a chance to shut the car door. 

Dee looked at the ground best she could with that metal contraption keeping her upright. Dennis reached out to touch her shoulder and said “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

Flinching away, Dee hissed “Don’t touch me, dick.”

But she followed him into the building.

 

The library was empty save for Mr. Blankenship, the assistant principal. He was short and round, with huge red glasses and a beer belly that hung low over his belt. His moustache made him look like a fat nerdy Hitler, and his penchant for screaming didn’t help the likeness. Dennis had gotten in trouble more than once before for giving a seig heil salute in the hallway as Blankenship passed.

“Ah, the Reynolds twins,” Blankenship sneered in his nasally voice as they took their seats at a large rectangular table. “I was hoping you two had graduated, or died tragically.” 

Dennis smirked. “Oh c’mon, Donald, what would you do without us! You’d be out of a job! Without us to torture it would just be jerking off to the seniors in gym class full time, and even for you that’s a tall order.”

Blankenship’s face went crimson, and Dennis’s smile grew wider. But before the teacher could explode, two idiots came crashing through the double doors. 

In strolled Ronnie the Rat, and that little gross kid he always ran with--Dirt Grub? Gross. The Rat had on some sort of long jacket, black and faux-leather. Dennis couldn’t help but think it was a little badass, but would be much more badass if he was wearing it. Dee rolled her eyes and scoffed, muttering “Ewww” under her breath. 

“We’re not late! We’re not late!” the small one screeched, in a voice that could crack glass. Dennis winced. “Dude, I told you we should’ve quit throwing rocks at the train earlier, it’s like a 40 minute walk here.”

“Well someone just had to stop and pet that rabid cat stuck in the sewer grate, didn’t they?”

“It was a beautiful creature, it was callin’ to me, Mac! She looked into my soul, Mac--”

“Sit down!” Blankenship shouted, and Charlie and Mac froze. Without taking their eyes off Blankenship, they slowly crouched down where they were standing and sat on the floor, careful not to make any sudden movements. 

Blankenship looked on the verge of an aneurysm. “Not th--oh Jesus Christ, fine.” 

It was all Dennis could do to hold in the laughter trapped in his mouth, to try and keep a straight face. 

“Good morning, juvenile delinquents. This is Saturday school, which I’m sure you’re all very familiar with already. You’ll be here from 8 to 4, no leaving the library, no talking, no laughing, no nothing that isn’t sitting on your ass with your mouth shut! Got it?’

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Blankenship to Mac to the twins. “...Are we supposed to answer or keep our mouth shut?”

This time Dennis couldn’t choke down his laughter. Blankenship’s face darkened to an unattractive puce. He fixed his gaze, magnified grotesquely by his 2-inch thick glasses, on Charlie. “Boy, I can’t tell if you’re serious, stupid, or just retarded.”

This time Mac piped up. “Well, this is a point of contention, Mr. Principal--right now we’re guessing somewhere between brain damage and whatever DiCaprio had in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?--”

“I swear to Christ…” Blankenship interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose before seeming to compose himself enough to speak. “I will be in my office, because I’m not paid enough to be in the same room with you idiots. I will check in periodically, and if you aren’t where you’re supposed to be, doing what you’re supposed to be doing, your asses are mine till the end of time, got it?”

Dennis frowned, glanced at Dee, and made a slight jerk-off motion with his hand. She giggled with her mouth shut.

Thankfully, Blankenship didn’t notice as he checked a sheet of paper. “Kelly, McDonald, Reynolds…” he muttered, before pausing and looking up at Dee. “Deandra Reynolds is not on this list. You do not have detention today.”

Dee’s eyes went wide and she frowned. “I know,” she mumbled. 

“Then why the hell are you here!” Blankenship demanded.

Dee began to stammer out an answer, but Dennis cut in. “She wanted to come to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t fuck--I mean, mess up--more than usual.”

Blankenship’s eyes narrowed. “A true saint. It’s no skin off my nose, but god knows why you’d want to spend your day with these numbskulls.” 

Dee gave up a small smile, one corner of her mouth turning upward as she looked at Dennis. He nodded. 

“Don’t bother me!” Blankenship warned, before exiting through the double doors and locking them behind him. 

For a long moment, the only sound in the library was the loud ticking of the clock hanging from the wall: 8:02. Dennis sighed, and cocked an eyebrow.

“Anybody bring weed?”

“I brought weed! I did!” Ronnie the Rat exclaimed, struggling to get up off the hard carpet.

“Oh, thank god, send that shit over here…” Dee chimed in. 

Charlie quickly followed Mac, brow furrowed, muttering something about being “waaaaay more smarter than DiCaprio, dude…”

Just as they reached Dennis and Dee, Mac stopped short and turned to Charlie. “Bro, these are like rich kids right?”

“Yeah man, like stupid evil rich kids with their money and their trapper keepers and their clothes with collars and no holes--” Charlie added, doing a poor job of whispering.

Dennis furrowed his brow. “You guys know we can hear everything you’re saying.”

Mac nodded. “For sure Charlie, but here’s the thing--rich kids will pay out the ass for weed. Cause they’re dumb, they’re not from the mean streets, they got cash to burn…”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I get you bro.”

“Alright, go with me.” Mac turned back to Dennis and Dee, who were leaning back with their arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

“Gonna be twenty dollars from each of you to partake in this sweet bud,” Mac announced as he unfurled a baggie of what looked like extremely shitty weed. 

Dennis fixed Mac with a withering stare. “Aren’t you the dumbass who tried to sell Nikki Potnik a blunt full of oregano for $43? And she beat your ass even though she’s 5’3 and bulimic?”

Dee chimed in next. “Oh, and last I heard your whole stash was stolen by the McPoyles, then they locked you in a broom closet overnight. The janitor found you the next day.”

Mac looked at his shoes, and mumbled “No, that-that was someone else…”

“Just give us the fuckin’ weed, guy,” Dennis demanded, and Mac tossed over the baggie and some rolling papers. 

Chuckling, Charlie added “Well, that backfired dude.”

“Shut up Charlie…” Mac muttered as he pulled up a chair and pulled out his lighter.  
\-----  
Mac had seen this Reynolds kid around school, and he thought maybe they had trig together. Mac wasn't sure, because trig was after lunch, which he spent getting baked with Charlie under the bleachers. Everything was fuzzy fifth period.

But usually it was in the hall, with the cool guys like Murphy and Adriano. And yet, the Reynolds dude was always on the periphery, never quite in the conversation or enjoying himself--he seemed distracted, on edge. But that just meant he was cooler, separate from those jock assholes that scammed Mac out of weed. Something about him was different.

Mac watched as Dennis sprinkled the weed into the rolling papers with his long, almost feminine fingers. Bringing the joint up to his mouth, Dennis licked the edge of the paper and rolled it tight, with the ease of someone who had done it hundreds of times before. 

Mac was staring, and when Dennis’s eyes flicked up and caught him, Mac felt an icy stab in his stomach and looked away. But not before memorizing the exact shade of blue.

“So what are you in for, Ronnie?” Dennis asked as he popped the joint between his lips and sparked. 

Mac tried not to stare at Dennis’s mouth when answering. “Pffft,” he scoffed. “I'm just too badass for the teachers to handle.”

“What?!” Charlie screeched. “That's bullshit, bro. Me and Mac here got caught passed out in the janitor's closet after sniffing too much bleach during study period.”

Mac glared at Charlie while Dennis’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. Dee cleared her throat and muttered “Mmm, classy.”

“I mean I love a good bleach smell!” Charlie laughed, not reading the room. “Purest thing in the world, that smell--”

“What about you guys?!” Mac interrupted loudly, desperate for Charlie to stop talking. 

Dennis growled a bit with frustration as he passed the joint to Dee, who raised it to her mouth with difficulty due to her metal contraption. “Mrs. Brody caught me and Schmitty beating the shit out of that fucking idiot, savage Ricky Falcone. Little bitch had the nerve to call me a faggot. Joke’s on him, I tore his ass apart.” 

Dennis chuckled to himself, while Dee narrowed her eyes and frowned, shooting a look at her brother. 

“But Schmitty, good old Schmitty, that son of a bitch, wormed his way out of it, said  
I was the mastermind. Which of course, I was. I always am.”

Mac shuffled in his seat, the word faggot echoing in his head, and the hateful, venomous way Dennis said it. Mac pushed it out of his mind.

“Sounds pretty badass dude, Falcone’s such a little bitch,” Mac added enthusiastically. 

As Dee inhaled and passed the joint to Charlie, Dennis paused, narrowing his eyes and giving Mac the once over. After a moment, he cracked the smallest of satisfied smiles. Mac felt something warm in his chest. Later, he would chalk it up to the fuzzy contentment of the weed, choosing to forget he hadn't even taken a drag yet.  
\-----  
After about an hour of puff puff pass and shit talking, the detentionees settled into a bored silence. Charlie was trying to touch his tongue to his nose with surprising success, Mac was stealing glances at Dennis, who was studying how parting his hair differently affected his overall look, and Dee was shifting in her seat, attempting to find a comfortable sitting position that accommodated her gigantic back brace. 

Dennis sighed. “Shit man, weed doesn't work like it used to. Now I'm just… fucking bored.”

“Well settle in bitch, we got 6 more hours,” Dee muttered with a grimace. 

“Fuuuuuuuuck…” Dennis grumbled, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

Charlie piped up. “Is there anything fun in the library? Anything other than book reading, which I am not interested in…”

“I gotta be honest with ya, dude, I've never set foot in a library voluntarily in my life,” Mac answered. 

Dennis sat up suddenly, flashing back to his freshman year. It was not a time he liked to think about, so much so he usually pretended it had never happened. But there were a few weeks where he became intimately familiar with the inner workings of the library. 

He stood up and walked across the library, towards the circulation desk. Charlie, Dee, and Mac watched him, and shared a few glances of confusion. 

Dennis stood behind the desk, and reached underneath, finding the small key ring hanging from a hook on the underside. Spinning the keys around his index finger, Dennis gestured for the gang to follow him. The others scrambled out of their chairs and caught up with Dennis just as he reached a door behind the biography section.

Slipping the key into the lock and turning the handle, Dennis turned towards the others with a cocked eyebrow. “Welcome… to the storage room.”

With a grandiosity completely unwarranted, Dennis flung open the door to reveal a dingy little room, cramped full of everything from old Laserdiscs, vinyl records, mimeographs. Basically any and every outdated piece of information tech was accounted for.

Everyone gazed in astonishment for a moment, the weed still dulling their reaction time. As they glanced from one antiquated machine to the next, their faces fell. Dee was the first to jump in with a disappointed “Are we supposed to be impressed?”

Dennis set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Dee, you bitch, you--” Sigh. “Board games,” he said, frustrated, gesturing to the shelf underneath a wavering tower of Beta Max tapes.

“Oh shit yeah! Hungry Hungry Hippos!” Charlie rushed toward the aging boxes, and began rifling through the titles best he could.

“Man… Minio…”

“Monopoly, buddy,” Mac added with an encouraging pat on the back. 

Dennis and Dee shared a troubled glance, and then turned their gazes back to Charlie.

“Fuck yes, dude I love Moneyopoly!”

“Bro,” Mac answered. “I don't think we ever finished a game, we always just start arguing over whether the race car is better than the old shoe.”

“Old shoes have history Mac! Who knows what feet were in those shoes!”

“Hey hey hey, what the fuck, why are we yelling about old shoes?” Dennis demanded. “Obviously racecar is better, like no question, by the way. Let's just pick a game and be done with it.”

Dee had knelt down best she could to examine the game boards. “Uhhh, I dunno Den, it looks like all of these games are missing about 70% of the pieces.”

Dennis heaved a sigh and let his eyelids flutter in annoyance. “Christ. Anyone got any better ideas?”

The gang went silent and glanced around, until finally Charlie chimed in, hesitant but with a weaselly little smile spreading across his face. “I think I mighta got somethin’.”

\-----  
“Alright alright, but what do we do when time runs out?” Dee asked, writing down all the rules and info in her Lisa Frank binder.

“Oh oh oh!” Mac exclaimed. “We need somethin’ scary as shit, like--”

“A black card,” Dennis answered menacingly, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

Charlie squealed with laughter from his spot sitting on the floor playing with the Hungry Hungry Hippos. “You guys!!! We gotta do the Hippos, how can we not do the Hippos?!”

Mac sighed. “We can't eat marbles, Charlie…”

“Certainly never stopped me before, Mac, you gotta stop limiting yourself dude.”

Just as they began discussing what other games to shoehorn into this weird hybrid monstrosity they were creating (Mac had suggested the name CharMac DeeDennis, but Dennis wasn't sold on it,) they heard a door close in the hallway. Heavy footsteps followed, echoing ominously. 

The gang froze, and Dennis hissed “Scatter!” They stuffed the board games underneath every table, every shelf nearby as they scrambled back to their respective seats. Just as Mac slammed his ass down into the chair, the giant double doors opened and Blankenship entered.

He sniffed the air once, twice, his eyes narrowing. Dennis eyed the almost empty air freshener can on the circulation desks. He wasn't stupid, and he knew how to cover his tracks, but the overwhelming scent of Bubbling Mountain Brook may tip off that something was up. 

Blankenship then focused his insect-like gaze on each of them in turn, attempting to see evidence of guilt on their faces. 

“Hmmm. Looks like no one is seriously injured. Unfortunate.”

Dennis resisted the urge to remind this asshole that it was only 11AM.

Blankenship drones on with audible contempt. “Lunch at 12:15. Bologna sandwiches. Milk. I will be back then with your box lunches. Somehow, so far you evil children have managed to not screw up. Keep it up, and maybe you won't be doomed to spend every Saturday with me.” He sighed. “And yet, hope is a dangerous thing.”

As he waddled back through the double doors, he shouted “Do your homework or something!”

After a solid thirty second grace period, Dennis broke the silence with “When will that fat fuck die horribly?”

“Oh god, I know,” Dee echoed. “Like choke on your chicken wing already, Colonel Sanders.”

They both chuckled maniacally, and high fived.

Mac was walking back toward the twins, egging them on. “Fat piece’a shit probably ain't seen his dick in 15 years!”

They all laughed, and Charlie added “Yeah, big fat man! Big fat belly!”

Their laughter faded a bit to “hehe, yeah man,” and “he is… fat.” But Charlie didn't seem to notice.  
\-----  
The four of them sat in a circle on the hard carpet--Charlie on his stomach, Mac criss cross applesauce, Dennis lying on his side propped on an elbow, and Dee leaning gingerly against the circulation desk (a giant back brace means limited seating choices). The clock ticked loudly, each second echoing through the empty library. 

“I mean, it's not like the apple itself is poisonous per se, but the skin, the skin, that's where the toxins are, and those are what get ya…” Mac droned on.

Charlie nodded solemnly in agreement. “That's why I don't eat fruit, too dangerous.”

Dennis couldn't tell whether he was more amused or disturbed. But then again, he didn't know enough about apples to be sure.

“Hey Dennis,” Charlie asked. “How did you know about the storage room bro? That was pretty sweet dude.”

Dennis shrugged, and mumbled “...worked in the library for a while, ya know…”

Dee turned to look at him. “I never knew you worked here. With Miss Klinsky?”

“Oh yeah yeah, the Keymaster!” Mac added. “Ya know, cause she looks like Rick Moranis.”

Dennis visibly hardened, his eyes going cold and his tone flat. “I don't have to tell you shit, Dee.” He couldn't tell anyone about that, and maybe he never will. His mouth still went dry when he saw Klinsky in the hallway, his stomach turned hot and the static buzz in his head became louder than usual. 

He had thought losing it to an older woman would've been cool. That's how it always was in the movies. Why couldn't it have been like in the movies.

This Ronnie--uh, Mac--kid was staring at him, and Dennis felt his face turn hot. He met Mac’s big puppy eyes, daring him to ask so he could rip him to shreds. It always felt better to fucking destroy someone--it felt better to feel nothing at all. But Mac just gave up a sad little smile, and with something like understanding he changed the subject. “I always liked Ghostbusters 2 better than one…”

Dennis felt himself relax, and his breathing go back to a normal rhythm, and his mouth turn up at the corners, just a little.  
\-----  
Blankenship brought the box lunches, gave the place the once over, and stalked off back to his office. They all sat around a table, eating their bland sandwiches in silence. Dennis checked his watch, rolling his eyes when he saw the time. Charlie noticed the sizable timepiece dangling from Dennis’s slim wrist and narrowed his eyes.

“So you two are rich, right? What's that like?” Charlie asked. “Cool I bet.”

Dee and Dennis exchanged a look, their eyebrows raised. 

“It's pretty good,” Dee conceded. 

Dennis added “Yeah, its… yeah, pretty… chill.” An awkward pause. “What's it like, ya know, being poor?”

“Not great!” Charlie answered. “Not much to do, except huffing paint, and glue, and bleach and shit.” One thing Charlie hated was the rich kids, who always put him down and thought they were better than him. Who did they think they were? Now that the weed was wearing off, he was realizing these two weren't his friends, they were just like the others.

“Mostly we throw rocks at trains and get high,” Mac added. 

Dee attempted to shrug. “We mostly get high too.”

“Yeah, but in a nice fancy house with a mom and a dad and everything you could ever want.” Charlie had an edge to his voice, thinking back to the men who come and go from his house at all hours. “Must be nice.”

Dennis bristled. “Get everything we want? You don't know shit, guy.”

Charlie retorted. “Oh I don't know shit?! About your perfect life in Chestnut Hill or wherever, and your popular friends--”

“Hey, just cause our parents have money doesn't mean we’re automatically bad people!” Dee screeched.

Dennis nodded. “Yeah at least we’re not on welfare and live in the fucking projects, dude!”

“Hey hey hey, can we not, guys--” Mac attempted to intervene. 

Dennis wasn't having it. “And I'll tell ya something else, retard, our parents don't give a fuck about us.”

“Oh yeah!?” Charlie countered. “Says the guy with the little alligator on his shirt and the big watch, where ya get those, the trash? Cause that's where I get all my shit, dude! Don't complain when people got it worse than you!”

“Oh oh oh, okay, because I don't shop in the trash I can't be dissatisfied? You're so concerned about my shit, why don't you have it then!” Dennis unlatched his watch and tossed it overhand at Charlie. “Take it, pawn it, I don't give a shit!”

Dee muttered. “Dad gave you that watch, Den…”

“Yeah Dee?! So fucking what? I haven't seen dad in almost a year, and neither have you! So yeah he drops in and throws me a Rolex every other birthday, like it fucking matters…” Dennis could feel himself losing control, his fingernails digging half moon cuts into his stinging palms.

“Oh boohoo!” Charlie retorted “‘I'm sad cause my daddy only gives me shit sometimes!’ At least you have a dad!”

“I'd rather not have a dad than have a fucking piece of shit for a father!” Dee piped up.

Mac sighed and stood up, holding his hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. “Ok ok! Can we agree that rich or poor, things can be bad for everyone?”

“Oh look, Ronnie the Rat’s getting brave on us!” Dennis spat back, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind he had gone fully off the rails. “What about you? You got a dad at home? I'm sure your home life puts ours to shame.”

Mac went quiet. “My dad’s in prison.”

Dennis barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes cold and his tone cutting like a razor. “Oof, big surprise. Daddy’s in the pen, same place you'll probably end up. Great role model.”

Something inside Mac snapped, and he could hear himself screaming “You take that back you motherfucker, I will fucking end you, bitch!” Before he knew it he had Dennis by the collar and he was yanking him off the ground. Just as Dennis steadied himself and tried to twist out of Mac’s grasp, Mac landed a punch hard on Dennis’s cheekbone, then another on his jaw. He felt the bone beneath his knuckles and for a moment felt good, strong. 

Dennis’s eyes went wide as the pain hit him, and he managed to rip himself free, tearing his shirt in the process. He paused and put a hand to his mouth, feeling the warm thick blood dripping down his chin. It tasted like pennies when he swallowed. He smiled and looked at Mac, his teeth stained red and his eyes distant. 

And then without warning, Dennis launched himself at Mac, his fists swinging wildly, hissing obscenities. He landed a few on Mac’s torso, knocking the wind out of him. But it was clear Dennis had never been in a fight before, and Mac managed to hold him back until Charlie broke them up after a few moments. Dee rolled her eyes.

“That's enough!” Charlie screeched. “You're even now, ok?!” 

“Fuck all of you,” Dennis said, wiping his mouth as he stalked away. He didn't say it, of course--how could he?--but he was wired, excited, shaking. Even a little hard. He had finally been in a fight. He had finally gotten his face bashed in by some Neanderthal. He finally got to hurt, to have pain inflicted upon him by someone other than himself. And when he let himself go berserk, god it was great. All the pent up rage came came out like a spurt of blood, like he had tapped a vein, and now he felt drained, spent. His head was quiet, for now at least. The retaliation was more like a thank you. 

Dennis was still tasting blood. He was a little dazed, and he felt a bruise blooming on his perfect cheekbone. It didn't feel good, he thought as he sucked on the gash inside his mouth, but it felt like something other than numb.  
\-----  
Dennis had stormed out, and Mac had gone somewhere, and now it was just Charlie and the Aluminum Monster. Even he knew the nickname, which was saying something. Charlie didn't know anything.

He frowned, and moved to sit next to Dee. “Your brother’s a real bastard, huh?”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Dee answered with a huff. “Try living with him. It's always ‘Dee how do I look, Dee how dare you speak to the golden god, Dee you look like a bird.’” 

Charlie chuckled a bit. “Heh, you do kinda look like a bird…”

Dee fixed him with a murderous look and his smile faded. “I didn't mean to start a fight,” Charlie conceded finally. “I don't know, sometimes I just get so worked up over nothing, and I lose it a little I guess.” He gave up a little laugh that died in the air.

“You and Dennis may have more in common than you think,” Dee answered. 

“Well if you hate him so much why did you come to Saturday school to hang out with him?” 

Dee went quiet. It wasn't like Dirt Grub mattered anyway, she thought. And her reputation didn't have far to fall after all.

“I didn't come out of the goodness of my heart, idiot.” Dee wouldn't meet Charlie’s eyes. “My mom didn't want to deal with me. She never does. She's either too fucked on pills to even leave bed or she's doting on Dennis, the favorite. So when the golden boy got detention she thought she’d pawn me off for the day. She'd rather die than actually spend time with me. Always just an afterthought.” 

Dee’s fists were clenched. In her family, you didn't get sad. You got angry. And then you took that anger out on everyone else. It wasn't very effective, and it sure as shit wasn't healthy, Dee knew that, but it was better than nothing.

Charlie was still looking at Dee. She did look a little like a bird, but not in a bad way. Charlie loved birds, and their illegal mysterious ways. Maybe rich kids weren't all evil fucks. Maybe he was wrong. Wouldn't have been the first time. Charlie nodded a little, and did the only thing he could think of.

“Eww what the fuck? What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to give you a hug,” Charlie answered, like it was obvious. “Cause that's sad, and I'm sad, so we can hug and make it better.”

“Charlie I'm not sad, please don't touch me.” Dee sniped. 

Charlie shrugged. “Alright, cool, cool.” Awkward silence. “You should probably be sad about that, though.”

Dee sighed. “I know.”  
\-----  
There was only a little blood on his hand, but Mac used that as an excuse to lock himself in the single stall bathroom. It was all going so well, until Charlie decided to pull a wildcard. As he washed the red off his knuckles in the sink, he tried to ignore the hard on pressing against his zipper. He had gotten so close, to beating this kid senseless, to kissing him---

Nope. No. Mac shook his head. But no matter how hard he tried he still couldn't shake the knowledge that he touched Dennis, gotten close enough to see the dark circles under his eyes, to feel how soft his skin was even as he was beating him. And that smile, what the fuck was that? It was almost like that was what he had wanted to happen, that he had provoked Mac knowing the outcome all along. 

Mac knew what crazy looked like--he did run with Psycho Pete and the Freight Train, after all--and this kid had it in spades. 

But somehow he wasn't repelled, wasn't even weirded out by the guy. Somehow, Mac just wanted to know him more. 

As he thought about what those eyes looked like wide in pain, and that sly smile leaking blood, Mac felt himself become more and more aroused. 

“Fuck it…” he muttered to himself as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. As he jerked off he repeated in his mind “cause’a the fight, cause’a the fight, just from the excitement of the fight…”, attempting to drown out the memory of that smile. And failing.  
\-----  
There was a small, elevated book annex on a balcony lining the back wall of the library. A small staircase in the corner led up to the loft, which was lined with wrought iron railing. Dennis sat with his legs between the metal poles, dangling his feet off the edge. He was on his third cigarette, just lighting up, when Mac walked up the stairs and sat next to him. Dennis didn't acknowledge him. Just continued staring out over the library in silence. 

“Sorry I busted your face,” Mac offered as he attempted to memorize Dennis’s profile, his long eyelashes--wait, was he wearing mascara?

“Don't flatter yourself,” Dennis muttered as he flicked ash into the air and watched it float lazily down, like gray snowflakes. 

Dennis made a point to never apologize. He never needed to, because he was always right. Wasn't his fault if people got upset about it. But he heard himself say “Sorry I, uh, talked shit on your dad.” It was like a reflex, natural, and Dennis realized that maybe he meant it. Even if he didn't, he couldn't stand Mac looking so needy and upset (or at least that's what he told himself). 

Mac noticed bloodstains on Dennis’s light blue polo collar, still bright and wet. “You got some on you…” Mac said, gesturing to Dennis. 

“Ugh, fuck,” Dennis sighed, popping his collar up in an attempt to hide it. But when he did, Mac saw more blood on the underside, near the nape of Dennis’s neck. It was more of a dark brown, dried. Old. 

Mac had a lot of questions. He also knew better than to ask right now. Maybe somewhere down the line.

Absentmindedly, Dennis pulled out a knife, and Mac flinched. Dennis noticed and smirked, but said nothing. He flicked it open and started dragging along his forearm, testing its sharpness. He shaved some of the hair off the back of his arm, and continued to fiddle with the blade. He liked having something to do with his hands, and the knife always felt good against his skin, cold and clean. He noticed the knobby white scars on his knuckles, from when he punched the wall, or the mirror when he was sick of looking at himself. Dennis grimaced. Ugly.

“Nice one, dude,” Mac offered, pulling out his own Swiss Army knife he got in Boy Scouts. It was shitty and dull, but useful for opening bottles. He started cutting at a hole in his pants, trimming off the dangling denim strings. 

Dennis noticed this and paused. “Trade you,” he said.

Mac raised his eyebrows. “What? Dude yours is so much nicer.”

“Oh I know,” Dennis answered. “Trade you.”

Mac’s face lit up as Dennis offered him the knife, and they switched. The Swiss Army knife was lighter in Dennis’s hand, and the blade was flimsy. 

Dennis didn't know why he did it. Maybe as thanks for making him feel something? Or because he had others at home. But it felt right. This kid was stupid, and loud, a rat and a shitty drug dealer, deeply uncool and from the wrong side of the tracks. But Mac looked at Dennis in the way he deserved to be looked at, and Mac seemed to know more than he let on. More than Dennis had ever told anyone.

“Your mom gonna get mad about the shirt? And your face?” Mac asked. 

Dennis shrugged. “Nah. Stupid bitch probably won't even notice. And as for the face, I have some concealer in my backpack.”

Mac laughed, then realized Dennis was serious. “Dude that's so weird!”

“You're weird,” Dennis answered. He tried to sound threatening, but failed miserably. Instead he smiled as he took another drag.  
\-----  
Eventually, Mac and Dennis came down from the loft and sat at the tables with Dee and Charlie again. They didn't talk about the fight, but it seemed like an unspoken truce had been reached. The clock hit 2pm. Two more hours. Thank god.

Dee groaned. “What the fuck are we gonna do till 4?”

Dennis stubbed out his last cigarette on the faux-wood table, leaving a mark.

Charlie smirked. “I mighta got an idea, and it would mean leaving early… but it is very illegal.”

The gang shared excited glances under raised eyebrows. Dennis answered “Yeah, I think we’re up for it.”  
\-----  
Just as he had gotten to the forum section of his worn out Penthouse, Blankenship heard a noise in the hallway. A locker slamming. Blankenship’s face reddened as fury rose hot in his chest, feeling not unlike his chronic heartburn. Those little shits are gonna get eviscerated. He tried not to think about their inevitable punishment for this, because god forbid it be more Saturday school with his sorry ass. The man rolled out from behind his desk with difficulty, zipping up his pants as he went. He took one last sip of coffee from the Garfield novelty mug on his desk before venturing out into the hallway. 

Silence, no movement. But he could've sworn--

And then to the left, the crashing of a locker door echoed from just around a blind corner. Blankenship groaned and attempted to hurry down the hall. By the time he reached the corner he was wheezing and livid. “Ok you motherfu--”

No one. The hallway was deserted. Blankenship almost lost it, having to stop himself from bashing in the lockers with rage. And then? On the other far end of the hall, behind him, the two heavy exit doors clanged shut--like the punks had just decided to make a break for it.

“I will break you Reynolds!” the vice principal screamed as he tried his best to jog down the hall, failing miserably. He reached the exit in due time, and on the verge of cardiac arrest. But as he looked out over the empty parking lot and around the corners of the building, there was no one to be found.

Within moments the library doors burst open, and Blankenship was coming in hot. “What the fuck do you think you're doing!” he demanded, expecting to see some if not all of his captives had pulled off the great escape. 

But what he found was Reynolds, the girl, the gay one, and the retard, all accounted for and sitting in silence, staring back at him with shock. 

The man immediately deflated. “What the…” He searched their faces for answers, and their blank stares betrayed nothing but confusion and slight amusement. With a growl through clenched teeth, Blankenship screeched “Idiots!” before turning on his heel and stalking back to his office. When he was behind the desk again, he took a deep breath, reminded himself that death was always an option, took a deep swig of his coffee, and dove back into the pussy and tit pics.  
\-----  
About 15 minutes later, Charlie started gathering his things, and they all followed suit. It was a fun distraction, popping in and out the library emergency exit, back into the building to bang lockers and doors, and then returning to the library the way they came. It was fun watching Blankenship suffer a cardiac event, for sure. But none of them were really sure what Charlie was doing--he said it was a surprise, and they were bored enough to take him at his word.

“It should have worked by now,” Charlie said mysteriously, checking the halls for the VP before exiting. 

“Kay bud, let's cut to the chase,” Mac urged, casting anxious glances at Dennis. 

Charlie rushed up to Blankenship’s office ahead of them, and peeked inside. He let out a wheeze of laughter. “Oh it worked baby! Good old poison always does the trick!”

And sure enough, Blankenship was slumped over the desk, dick out and unconscious, spittle leaking from his mouth.

“Holy shit!” “Oh my god!” “What the fuck!” Dennis, Dee, and Mac all said in unison.

“You really poisoned his ass?!” Dennis asked with wonder in his eyes, marveling at how much he didn't care about his complicity in a felony.

Charlie smiled bashfully. “Yeah, man. Swiped some’a my mom’s pills to see if I could get high. Turns out, can't get you high, can knock you the fuck out for hours.” He gestured to the coffee cup. “Five should keep him sleepy for at least 32.”

“Charlie...” Dee began, her eyes wide. Charlie braced for her condemnation. “This is amazing!” He smiled when she looked at him, then looked away, embarrassed but beaming.

Charlie went red as the gang congratulated him. “Pffft, thanks guys, it was nothin’.”

They all waltzed out the front door, free at last. “My only question is, why didn't you poison him sooner?” Mac asked. “You could've had us out of here by 8:20 this morning!”

Charlie shrugged. “Honestly, I was kinda having fun.”

Dennis, Dee, and Mac all began to berate him, but soon realized they were kinda having fun too.

Dennis threw Dee some change. “Yo sis, call us a cab, will ya?” He gestured to the payphone on the edge of the parking lot. She rolled her eyes, but obliged.

Mac looked sad, and Dennis noticed. Why did he notice that? He never noticed stuff like that. Emotion stuff. But Mac’s eyes were downcast and his brows were slanted down as he kicked at the asphalt. “C’mon Charlie, guess we should get going, it's a long walk.” Charlie nodded and started heading that way. Mac was more hesitant, lingering in front of Dennis. He needed to say something but couldn't put it into words. He was never good at words. Finally, after opening and closing his mouth a few times, Mac sighed, and turned to follow Charlie.

Something tugged at Dennis’s insides as he watched Mac walk away, something that was dormant and sore from lack of use. “Hey, wait up,” he heard himself say, and he had even jogged a few paces to catch up. He grabbed Mac by the shoulder and turned him around. Mac’s face lit up with expectation and genuine delight.

Now it was Dennis’s turn to stammer. “I, uh… W-would you wanna hang out, tonight?” The words were tumbling out. “I mean, I just rented Predator last night at Blockbuster, a-and Dee is shit to watch movies with, she only likes goddamn chick flicks… And we could get like, pizza, or something? Mom doesn't cook, but pizza--always good, you know?” God, he sounded like a fucking idiot. Why was this so hard all of a sudden. Dennis sighed, and looked at Mac and Charlie. But mostly Mac. “So, uh, you guys wanna come over?”

Mac smiled, looked at Charlie (who nodded), and then back at Dennis, his grin growing by the second.

“Fuck yeah dude. Fuck yeah.”

(“Don't You Forget About Me” by Simple Minds played on the cab radio on the way home, until the gang yelled at the cabbie to turn it to “something less gay.”)


End file.
